


Reciprocating Souls

by Ner1a



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reunion Sex, Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering, morons to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ner1a/pseuds/Ner1a
Summary: Harrowhark and Gideon celebrate their reunion with emotion-filled sex.(Kind of) spoilers for Harrow the Ninth and Gideon the Ninth, with my own assumptions and guesses about what actually comprises perfect lyctorhood.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 94





	Reciprocating Souls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phyxrak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phyxrak/gifts).



> Happy birthday to my dear friend Phyxrak. And a very big thanks for the folks on The People's Tomb discord for betaing for me!

When you opened your eyes, you saw your eyes staring back at you.

It caught you off guard at first. You knew it would happen, a known effect of perfect lyctorhood, but you still found yourself taken aback. You hadn’t truly seen my face in so long, and when you finally did, you saw part of yours in mine. You’d seen your own eyes, of course, in mirrors—but you’d never seen your eyes scan your face, unbelieving. You’d never seen your eyes roam over your body, appraising, taking it in.

I saw my own eyes, too. I saw them stare from above a slack-jawed look of awe. I saw them blink once, twice, and bat away tears that you couldn’t let fall.

Did you know why those eyes watered, Griddle? Did you understand how many emotions my eyes tried to hide, to keep from showing on your face? The relief, to take the first breath of new life. The anger that I’d sacrificed so much to bring you back. The pain, finally, _finally_ releasing its grip. The fear that the pain would return, that it was all a dream turning into a nightmare.

The desire.

Did you know I wanted to kiss you then?

Could you read in your eyes the passionate wish that there were no bystanders to witness your resurrection? The barely restrained longing?

I didn’t kiss you, then. I couldn’t, not before we had a chance to talk. You promised me your life, Griddle, and I promised you mine, and that meant that no one but us had the right to witness any part of the fulfillment of those promises. Not Ianthe (who probably wished we’d stripped right there, the pervert), not Cam (who was probably running a thousand mental calculations about how I did this to begin with), not any of the Blood of Eden who had guarded your body all that time and stood watching it come back to life now.

I had a plan to consummate our promises. It started with getting us somewhere private—my quarters would work, but anywhere with a locking door, really. The second step was to hold you close, to finally tell you, my voice to your ears, how I felt about you. You never let me get that far. Self-control has never been your strong suit. But if I can confess something… I’m glad self-control wasn’t an option for you then, and I’m grateful you shot my plan all to hell.

You have always been passionate, and your passion overtook you. You knew me better than I knew myself. You saw the war playing across my face, and instead of grabbing my face in your hands, you grabbed my wrists in a loose grip, instead. You let me help you up, wobbled a little, regained your footing. Your face mixed equal parts uncertainty and passion, and you knew, in that moment, that mine did too. You decided not to say anything of substance, not yet. A quick glance around at the bystanders, and you uttered a single question.

“Where?”

You knew as well as I did where my quarters were, and you could have taken me there, my own memories in your head. Instead, you let me lead, you let me guide you to the quiet space with the closed door. My memories, my mind in your body, told you how much I needed to be in control… until we were in private, and I could freely let myself go. You followed closely, never letting go of my hand, always letting me lead.

That changed when the door shut. You watched as the uncertainty on my face morphed into lust, and before you realized what you were doing, you had pressed me between your hard body and the door. I don’t know if you’d realized yet that my feet weren’t even on the ground—you’d lifted me up to meet your eye level, your hands effortlessly gripping my waist, my legs wrapped around your thighs. One tilted head on your part, asking, one small nod on my part, answering, and you kissed me.

I had never truly known the want of another living soul. You knew that. You half-remembered in that moment the way I used to talk about The Body, to describe her beauty, and you thought that her beauty couldn’t possibly compare to mine. You poured everything you had into that first kiss. The longing, the desire, the desperation. You kissed me out of grief, out of passion, out of lo—

But your mind can only think hard in certain circumstances, and those circumstances did not include my hands on your breasts.

You shuddered against me, a pulse of need rocking you to your core. You felt your body respond; your nipples turned to pebbles in my hands. You felt your smallclothes grow warm, and you knew that you couldn’t find happiness until you learned how I felt underneath you, how my skin tasted on your lips.

You still didn’t realize you had lifted me when you pressed me against the door, and when you pulled back, it was a bit of a shock to us both. I dropped like a sack of rocks, and you couldn’t help but laugh—I don’t think our height difference will ever be anything but amusing to you, Griddle, and while I’ll rarely admit it, your amusement amuses me, too. I laughed too, flushing pink from embarrassment and want, but within moments our eyes locked again, and our laughter stopped all at once.

Briefly, your uncertainty returned. You learned everything you knew about sex and desire from dirty magazines, and you knew that those magazines weren’t truly realistic… but you _wanted,_ Griddle. You wanted to learn, to know. You wanted to explore every inch of my body, to feel it pressed into you, to hear my voice scream your name. You backed away from the door and offered me a hand, heart bursting when I took it and with another reassuring nod, and I gave you the reins for the rest of the night.

You guided me back to the bed and spun us until the backs of my legs hit the edge of the mattress. You watched me, mouth agape, as I crawled backwards to rest against the pillows. I opened my arms to you and you surged forwards, pressing your mouth to mine again. Your hands, calloused still despite months of disuse, ran along my sides, feeling my curves, stroking my edges. I whimpered when you pulled away slightly and grinned against my lips before moving them down to my neck.

The first taste of the skin there was ambrosia. It was sweeter to you than pudding, more refreshing than the first breath of life after death. It warmed under your tongue and blossomed a deep rose when you sucked. My breath, shuddering still, quickened and sharpened when the sharp edges of your teeth laid against my collarbone. You nibbled there, briefly remembering a time when I threw an actual collarbone at you, only to have the resulting construct pin you to the training room floor while I laughed.

Neither of us laughed, then, but it gave you ideas. You grabbed my hands from where they had been gripping your sides and pinned them above my head. God, Griddle, the strength in those hands… you could tell when I realized what was happening, with the sudden jerk of my hips against yours and the low whine that escaped my throat, exposed to your ministrations. Your right hand stayed on my wrists, and your left hand moved to the hem of my shirt.

You took your time running your fingers along the strip of exposed skin between my shirt and pants. I shuddered a little, and you realized I was ticklish, something you noted to use against me later. You grazed your fingers slowly, slowly up my stomach, taking in the smoothness of my skin. You wondered briefly how I managed to keep my skin so soft—I’ll tell you later, though I don’t foresee you following my regimen.

As you drew your hand up my stomach you pulled my shirt with it. Your progress was briefly impeded by the bone corset that I wore, but that was quickly dissolved with a wave of my hand. I gasped to feel your hands brush my breasts, but you didn’t linger, pulling my shirt up and off my head. You had to briefly let go of my wrists to do so, and I took advantage, grabbing your auburn hair in my hands and pulling you back to my lips.

Your moans tasted as sweet in my mouth as my skin did in yours. I _needed_ you then, Griddle, but I quickly found my wrists gripped once more, pulled back above my head. This time, your mouth didn’t stop at my collarbone, and continued on until your lips wrapped around a straining nipple. I gasped, again, and rocked my hips against yours. I _needed_ , Griddle, and you always knew me better than I knew myself.

It wasn’t long before the impatient rocking of my hips infected you as well, and your hand moved to the fastenings of my pants. Those, you simply ripped open. I felt your muscles bulge briefly before a brief burst of cold air hit my lower belly. It didn’t stay cold: your hand took the place of that air, sliding down into my pants to cup the growing wetness you found. Your lips released the nipple they had been sucking on when you discovered how wet I already was—I soaked my smallclothes, Griddle, and it’s your damn fault. If you hadn’t been impatient before, you were now, releasing my wrists again to rip my pants and smallclothes down my legs in one fell swoop.

My boots impeded your progress. I’d taken to lacing them with bone laces, keeping them plastered tightly to my calves. You let out a frustrated huff as you tried to undo them, the stiffness fighting you, but then they turned to ash under your fingers. You looked up at me, to thank me I think, and noticed that my eyes were still closed, head back, panting heavily. I hadn’t undone those laces, Gideon.

You paused. I opened my eyes to gaze down at you and watched your face change as you realized that you were the one to command the bone into ash. You pulled back, jaw dropping, and stared for a moment at your fingers. I almost laughed when you wiggled them in front of your face, as if there were something different about the fingers themselves—but no, Gideon. You took my eyes, and you took a piece of my necromantic soul, and with that came all the delights of bone magic.

You played for a brief moment—reforming the laces to my boots, letting them fall again. Another squirm of my hips reminded you what you were down there to do, and a grin broke through your face as you finished divesting me of my clothing. The time to play with this newfound power was later. Your eyes roamed up my legs again, and settled at the juncture of my thighs, which I spread to your gaze. The glistening of my cunt made you lick your lips, but before you could act, a hand wove through your hair again, stopping you.

“I need to see you, Gideon.”

My voice was hoarse, quiet. Our eyes met with something like reverence, and you quickly stripped yourself. I was only given a moment to admire the view before you laid your body fully back down on top of mine. You kissed me again. The rocking of my hips restarted, painting your abs with slick, as I tried desperately to find friction on your muscles. I found some, but you knew from my panting it wasn’t enough.

You’ve always known me better than I knew myself.

While one of my hands returned to your hair, one of your hands gripped the other, intertwining our fingers. I would tease you for that later, Griddle, that even as our skin finally, finally pressed together, your inner romantic won out. Still, I couldn’t tease, not when one of your hands had maneuvered its way down my stomach to cup once more between my thighs.

God, Griddle. When a calloused fingertip parted my lips and sought out the stiff bud of my clit, I nearly screamed. I had never known anything like that—you didn’t know yet, but you figured out quickly… I’d never even touched myself. You lightened your touch, letting me adjust, but kept the constant swirling of a fingertip going, alternating figure eights around my clit and my entrance.

When I adjusted enough to meet your eyes again, that same finger slipped inside me. Just the tip, just a little, just to see how it felt, and I shuddered, gasping for breath. You stayed gentle, teasing, a little bit at a time. Before I was fully aware, your finger was fully inside me, and you got to feel the clenching of my muscles around you for the first time.

You brought your thumb back to my clit, but it was more than I could handle. I screamed and arched my back, and the clasping of my muscles became stronger around you, pulsing as I came undone. I could feel the awe that filled you as you watched me. I could feel your own arousal build powerfully. You made as if to bring your mouth to my cunt, wanting nothing more than to swallow the mess you had made of me, but my hand on your head stopped you again.

“Too much.”

You pulled out of me slowly, gently, as my hips relaxed back onto the bed. You moved back up and kissed my lips instead, giving me time to adjust, for my over-sensitive body to cool. Griddle, your chivalry will be the death of you—again—because you clearly telegraphed your intention to ignore your own need and just hold me until I slept.

I wouldn’t have it, Griddle. I couldn’t lie there, feeling the heat of your skin, the hint of wetness when you draped your leg over mine, and do nothing. You promised me your life, Griddle, and I promised you mine, and that meant that nothing you did for me would go unreturned. You died for me, but I went to hell for you, and I’d let myself be damned back to that place before I let you go unsatisfied.

I partly turned to face you, to put my hands on your hips. My grip wasn’t nearly as strong as yours—soul sharing doesn’t do much to make up for differences in stature and musculature, and I still had yet to do any of those press-ups or squats or rows or other oddly named exercises you had nagged my brain about while you piloted my body. Still, you let me guide you back on top of me. Your eyes opened wider when I urged your hips up, instead of allowing them to rock against my pelvis. I nodded, to let you know that this is really want I wanted, and you crawled up, to place your knees on either side of my head.

You grabbed the top of the headboard to steady yourself, but I had to pull on your hips once more before you were steady enough to lower your cunt against my face. My tongue against your folds was light, hesitant, almost ticklish, but the more of you I tasted, the bolder I got. I lapped up the wetness I found, which only made more. I moaned when your hips started to rock, brushing your clit against my nose. I _groaned_ , in tandem with you, when I sucked your clit between my lips and swirled my tongue around it. Still, you needed more, needed faster, needed harder.

I may have come quickly, inexperienced and uncertain about what I was feeling, but you knew exactly what you liked. Those magazines of yours may not have been realistic but they gave you the chance to explore your own body in a way I never had. I needed to take that chance now, to see what brought you the most pleasure. A flick of my tongue against your clit brought out a whimper. The circling of my tongue around your entrance got me a sigh. A flat tongue up the length of your slit had your hips grinding down onto my face, smearing wetness against my chin. And when I finally brought a finger of my own to tease against your entrance, the fluttering of the muscles in your thighs let me know that I was on the right track.

In the end, it was a combination of one finger inside you, then two, then three—my fingers are not as large as yours, Griddle, don’t laugh at me—and a lengthy sucking of your clit that undid you. I screamed when I came, but you went silent as death. I had to look up to see you biting down on your lower lip, a trickle of blood peeking out from around your teeth. Streams of your slick spilled out around my fingers and over my chin and neck, and you shuddered through the waves of ecstasy, before gasping in a breath I don’t think you realized you were holding. I felt quite satisfied to see you pull yourself off my fingers and flop down beside me again, muscles limp this time with release. I don’t know that you realized I was also slightly disappointed—I’d wanted to make you scream too, Griddle. But those years of furtive and stealthy masturbation in your cell, trying not to get caught, trained you to hold your breath and bite whatever you had to keep quiet, and it would take me some time before I got to know the sound of you as you came.

You took a few moments to catch your breath before kissing me softly. You tasted yourself on my lips, licked at my chin and my neck to clean me up, and wrapped your arms around my waist to draw me close to you. We rested there, naked and blissfully alone, where we heard nothing but our own heartbeats and felt the final intermingling of our shared souls. The words wouldn’t come for another few hours, and after another round, but every touch, kiss, and breath said what we both needed to hear.

I love you, Gideon, and you love me, and in the end, it’s Harrowhark-and-Gideon, Gideon-and-Harrowhark at last.

* * *

_My beloved Harrowhark,_

_I hope you do realize that you’re going to find yourself pinned to that wall again just as soon as I’m done replying to this. But I have to say, as John-damned hot as your recounting of that day was, I’m not entirely sure it’s right for the “Ask Griddle” column in the next edition of Nasty Nuns of the Ninth. Can’t have everyone thinking I’m all soft beneath the rock hard abs and biceps bigger than your head. Still, I’m happy to provide some fresh inspiration for the next column. Brace yourself, my little goth princess._

_All my love,_

_Gideon_


End file.
